


From the Inside

by RiaRose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Good Boyfriend Steve Rogers, Illnesses, M/M, Protective Team, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Sweet Steve Rogers, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Tony-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, autoimmune disorder, celiac disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaRose/pseuds/RiaRose
Summary: -He was a mess, and the others were noticing. Steve definitely knew something was up. He was the one who rubbed Tony's back when he threw up, the one that put heating pads over his stomach when the pain got to be too much, and the one that gave him gentle reminders when he knew Tony didn't remember something.He held him at night and felt the pounds as they eroded away from Tony's body, did his best to soothe the pressure that bloated his belly with soft circular motions, watched as his skin became pale, and coaxed him through the heart palpitations.But nothing he or anyone else said could convince Tony to just see a damn doctor.ORTony is sick, and not in the 'gone in 24 hours' kind of way. Something is seriously wrong and he's refusing to go to the doctor, because *of course* he is.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 95
Kudos: 296





	From the Inside

**Author's Note:**

> This story is incredibly close to my heart. It started as a rather self-serving cathartic release as I have the same disorder I give Tony. It turned into something bigger than I could imagine. I began writing simply because I had searched for something similar and didn't find it. So, I decided to write it myself.
> 
> I did my best to encompass different symptoms, as some of my own are atypical, and some are not. I really wanted this to be a fluffy read for everyone, but something to feel akin to with those who have this disorder as I do. A lot of what Tony goes through I experienced first hand, such as the brain fog, the fatigue, and the anemia. My own diagnosis was two years ago, so I'm still learning about this. Any errors are my own and I ask that you are forgiving if I make a medical error.
> 
> Hopefully as you read, my fellow Gluten Free loves, you can find in Tony something to make you feel like you've been heard and recognized. 
> 
> I love you all! 
> 
> Grab a box of K-Toos, curl up in a blanket, and enjoy. 
> 
> And please remember, when your co-workers are scarfing down pizza in the break room, when your family is enjoying cake at someone's birthday, and when you're so hungry but won't risk possible CC at a fast food restaurant so you just go without: 
> 
> WHAT MAKES YOU DIFFERENT MAKES YOU BEAUTIFUL. 
> 
> ❤
> 
> Much love and thanks to Rachel, Wilma, Ava, Morning, and Ferret for dealing with my crazy and helping to cheer and beta this. I'm forever indebted to all of you!
> 
> Also: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ROBERT DOWNEY JR. WE ALL KNOW YOU LURK ON HERE BECAUSE YOU SHIP STONY HARDER THAN ANY OF US DO! 😜

****

**From The Inside**

Tony couldn't pinpoint exactly when it was he began to just feel sick. Constantly. It probably started months ago, but by the time March came around, the days he felt ill and the days he didn't blurred together in a new uncomfortable normal that he was becoming less and less able to compartmentalize.

Sometimes, it felt like someone had taken a shard of glass and was cutting him open from the inside out, other times he would vomit up everything he’d just consumed. Some days, there was nothing. Literally. He would sit in the bathroom, cramping and cursing everything in existence while other days it would come on too fast and too painful. He could never predict what would happen. It was safer to just stay at home.

Then there were the migraines, his nails brittle and breaking, the pure exhaustion, the weight loss, his stomach so distended that he would have sworn he was going to burst, and the brain fog. That was the worst. He would sit in his workshop, hell bent on getting something done, and his mind would just… leave. He couldn't focus; he kept forgetting. Things a genius like himself should never have to deal with.

He forgot his wallet at a restaurant. Forgot his cellphone on a bench in Gramercy Park. Forgot meetings, and dinners, to call Steve when he returned safely from a business trip. Sometimes he would forget where he put a tool, not five minutes after he set it down.

He was a mess, and the others were noticing. Steve definitely knew something was up. He was the one who rubbed Tony's back when he threw up, the one that put heating pads over his stomach when the pain got to be too much, and the one that gave him gentle reminders when he knew Tony didn't remember something.

He held him at night and felt the pounds as they eroded away from Tony's body, did his best to soothe the pressure that bloated his belly with soft circular motions, watched as his skin became pale, and coaxed him through the heart palpitations.

But nothing he or anyone else said could convince Tony to just see a damn doctor.

They had all surmised that it had to be something Tony was ingesting. The vomiting and diarrhea always seemed to happen no more than thirty minutes after a meal. Maybe it was a food allergy? Or maybe Tony needed things healthier than just pizza and Chinese takeout. He wasn't exactly young anymore, as much as he still acted like it, but such a drastic change in his tolerance of what he ate didn't sit right.

The realization hit on a sunny and brisk day in early March. It was just after lunch, and Tony was on the couch, curled up under a blanket, shivering and miserable. He was just visible through the doorway to the kitchen, and thankfully unable to see the heavy eyes of the others studying him.

"This is getting out of hand. If he won't go to a doctor..." Natasha trailed off, glaring at Steve like it was his fault. They were in the kitchen, a safe distance away so they wouldn't be heard by the topic of their conversation.

"You think I control him? That's laughable!"

Clint was seated at the island in the kitchen, pushing around a stray piece of cheese left on the table from their meal. "You _are_ dating him."

Steve turned from the garbage he was trying to shove the empty pizza box into, "Are you kidding me? He only listens to me marginally more than he did before our relationship."

Natasha waved her hand, dismissing them both. "Regardless, this has been going on for months. I say we drug him and dump him at the emergency room."

"Nat." Steve said in warning.

"You can't think of anything?" Clint said, turning to Bruce, who sat next to him.

The scientist shook his head. "My medical knowledge is limited to third world afflictions. I'm not a doctor." He sighed at their looks, "I mean a medical doctor. Big difference. He needs to eat better."

"So, what? We need to get healthy shit?" balked Clint.

"We should cook here, and more often. See if we can't choose healthier options, maybe that'll help. If not, we drug him." Steve snapped his head towards Natasha at her words.

"We're not drugging my boyfriend."

"Before we roofie our friend," Bruce said evenly, "we'll try eating healthier, which, let's face it, is good for all of us, and if that doesn't work, maybe an elimination diet?"

"Tony’s going to freak." Natasha said.

"Not if he starts to feel better," Steve added. "He's lost so much weight."

"He had another migraine yesterday." Clint supplied.

"And no spray tan is going to fix that paleness." Bruce continued. "He's really sick, but we can't force him to see a doctor. Let's try changing his diet first."

Steve frowned and rubbed his face, "I can feel his ribs when I hold him." They all looked down at that. Tony was always so fit. "If something doesn't change, the next time he puts on the suit it's liable to snap him in half." Maybe it was an exaggeration, but the implication was clear.

"Okay!" Natasha exclaimed, clapping her hands together once, startling them. "Let's go food shopping!" She _did_ always feel better with a plan.

"Like actually go into a store and buy stuff?" The face Clint made had Bruce chuckling.

"Yes! We'll buy things that are organic, right? Check the ingredients. Natural stuff, with no preservatives." Natasha was already digging through the pantry to find the reusable bags she knew were in there. "If we can divide and conquer, it shouldn't take long."

"But JARVIS could just-"

"-No. This is Tony's health. I want to see the stuff we buy before it gets into the tower."

"Agreed," Steve said, giving up on the box and sliding it behind the trash can. "I'll let him know what we're doing."

"See if you can't get him up and in bed," Bruce spoke, looking into the living room and studying the form on the couch and frowning.

"It's been like twenty minutes, think he'll be sick soon?"

Natasha looked at Steve, her expression grim. "Probably. Maybe you should stay here, just in case."

"That might be best."

When the others left, he made his way to Tony's side, lightly rubbing his arm to get his attention. "Hey, angel." Tony's eyes blinked as he looked up at him. "Come on, you should be in bed."

"I'm fine."

"And I'm pregnant."

Tony snorted. "Physical impossibility. And not just because you're a man. If anyone's getting pregnant, it would be me."

Laughing, Steve tugged Tony's arm. "Come on, up!" It was a testament to their relationship that Tony listened. He put his arm around the smaller man's waist, carefully guiding him to the elevator. Tony's skin felt cold to the touch. "Babe, you're _freezing_."

"I know."

Steve sighed and hit the button for the penthouse. "Natasha, Clint, and even our resident homebody, Bruce, went to the grocery store."

"The fuck, why?"

"Because we think it's what you're eating that's making you feel like this. So, if you won't go to the doctor, we're going to try changing your diet. Ours too. We'll eat what you eat, I promise."

Tony leaned on him, his exhaustion making him feel like he could sleep for years. "Okay."

And that worried Steve. It wasn't like Tony to just allow them to change what he ate. He meant it when he said he didn't control the genius. No one did. Tony did what he wanted, when he wanted, and where he wanted. To give in just like that? It made Steve think he was sicker than he let on.

In the bedroom, he gently tugged off Tony's sneakers and socks, jeans, and t-shirt, replacing it with a pair of his own sweatpants, his own hoodie, and a thick pair of slipper socks. Tony’s feet felt like ice and Steve wrapped his hands around them, trying to massage some warmth back into the appendages before pulling the fuzzy fabric over them.

Tony loved wearing Steve's clothes. They were comically big on him, but that was half the comfort. He tugged the hood up and pulled the sleeves over his hands, letting Steve tuck him in, adding extra blankets on top of the smooth duvet.

He didn't get sick, not this time. Didn't have to run to the bathroom for one reason or another, but he did wake up clutching his stomach and head. The stabbing glass was back, and so was the migraine. He let Steve hold him--the only one allowed to when this happened--and rub soothing circles over the spot on his abdomen that hurt, the distended, bloated belly feeling almost foreign to Steve.

But Steve didn't speak. There were no words to say, and the sound would only make the pain in Tony's head feel worse. In his mind, he was in full lecture mode.

_You could be dying! You could have cancer! At least going to a doctor would get you answers! And they could help! Damn it, Tony. They could give you something so you don't feel like this all the time._

It was the same as he had said before. But it never got them anywhere. Tony still refused to see a doctor. Natasha was right; this was getting out of hand.

* * *

Across town, Happy was dropping off the other three Avengers present at a Whole Foods. Clint was making a face. "I hate these yuppy stores."

"They've cornered the Manhattan market. And they'll have the best of what we're looking for." Bruce answered as they entered, grabbing a cart.

"Okay, we need a plan. Jesus, this place is big." Natasha frowned. "Clint. Meat department. Lean meats mostly, some beef only because Tony will slaughter us if we deny him cow. Grass fed, all that garbage. Bruce, healthy snacks, breads, milk, and eggs. I know you know what to do. And I'll hit the produce. Meet at checkout in twenty." Because of course she approached it like a mission.

They each grabbed their own carts and set off, Clint headed in the wrong direction, before turning and sheepishly wheeling the other way.

In the produce section, Natasha surveyed the displays before acting. Planning her route around. She nodded, tapped her cart, and set off. Apples, oranges, pears, mangoes, strawberries, and bananas. Fruit: Check. Celery, broccoli, onions, mushrooms, bell peppers, squash, green beans, and cucumbers. Vegetables: Check. Dill, parsley, rosemary, thyme. Herbs: Check. Root vegetables: Potatoes, parsnips, carrots. Check.

She made it back to the checkout in record time.

Clint fared pretty well himself, given that he only had to procure meat, and honestly, he was an expert. He got the usuals, chicken quarters, pork chops, and steaks, also grabbing some sausages, chopped meat, and a whole chicken. He was damn proud of himself. He had even thought to stop at the deli counter and grab some cold cuts. As he wheeled his cart back to the registers, he saw Bruce wasn't having as much luck.

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah," Bruce was saying, he was comparing the ingredients on two packages of cookies. His cart already had the eggs and milk, and an obscenely large bag of shredded cheese. Two loaves of whole wheat bread, and a bag of bakery fresh bagels. "I just never realized exactly what's in these things."

"Gross, right? Even at a Whole Foods. I try not to think about it."

Shaking his head, Bruce put the smaller and more expensive package into the cart. "You pay for the better stuff."

"There's like three cookies in there!" Clint whined, grabbing two more packages off the shelf. "You need to get enough!"

Rolling his eyes, Bruce shrugged. He walked down the aisle and tossed in a box of organic fruit snacks and a box of high end crackers. "And your total for seven items is $564."

"And 39 cents." Clint cheeked. They combined their carts and left the other by the entrance, headed into the breakfast aisle to get cereal before meeting back up with Natasha. "So who's gonna cook all this?"

"We all will." She said, choosing a line. "We'll take turns. It'll be good for us to learn how to make something other than Top Ramen."

"Don't you dare insult Top Ramen in front of me!" Clint sassed, ignoring an offended look from a young couple at the next checkout.

Bruce pulled the cart in behind him when they got up to the cash register, plucking things from the cart to put on the belt. "The point," he said with a scolding look in Clint's direction, "is to make the food at home, so we know what's going into it. With any luck, this will solve the problem."

Clint was quiet, his good mood gone when he thought about Tony. "Something's gotta give, man. Even the media is noticing. They're saying he has an eating disorder."

No one could say anything to that. To the outside world, that's probably _exactly_ what it looked like.

* * *

Bruce cooked that night. He put a recipe on the tablet and did his best to follow the instructions to a T. And while it didn't look as pretty as the picture, it tasted fabulous. Chicken quarters with gravy he made from the drippings, mixing it with flour and spices -- with broccoli and mashed potatoes on the side.

It was honestly the best meal any of them had in a long time.

But Tony still got sick.

They stood outside the bathroom as he retched, Steve inside and trying to comfort him, the sounds making them feel like failures.

"Maybe it takes some time? You know? To get it out of his system." Clint said quietly.

Bruce answered, just as softly, "Maybe."

Steve emerged a few seconds later, "Can anyone grab Tony a new hoodie? He got some on it."

Natasha nodded and left for the penthouse silently, the rest looking through the cracked open door at Tony; he was on his knees, hunched over the bowl, tear tracks on his face.

"This is getting scary." Clint spoke.

They all agreed.

* * *

Morning brought sunshine and a pissed off Pepper Potts. She scurried around the bedroom, with no regard for the two sleeping men in the bed.

"Tony!" she scolded loudly, waking them both. "We have a meeting in twenty minutes!"

Tony snapped upright, the hood of his sweatshirt falling over his eyes, "fuck!"

She was in his closet, pulling out a suit. "No time to shower. Fix your hair, spray something on yourself, and let's go! Happy is waiting."

She didn't really know what was going on. Despite all their years of knowing each other, Tony was still very good at hiding things from her. Had she known, she never would have interrupted his sleep.

"Pep," Steve started, sitting up. "Tony's sick."

She turned to look at him, hunched in the hoodie and looking like death. "What's wrong?" It had been a few months since she had seen him in the flesh and not through a computer screen, having just returned from California after dealing with the West Coast end of Stark Industries. She had seen the headlines, but the media was so often wrong about all things Tony Stark that she wasn't concerned. Tony's pale features and gaunt face were a shock to her. For once, the magazines and newspapers weren't too far off the mark.

"He's sick."

"You said that." She spoke softly, coming to stand by the bed and studying her friend. He followed her with his eyes, looking for all the world like a deer in headlights.

"I don't know, Pep," Tony said quietly, "been throwing up."

"So, you got a stomach bug?" But a stomach bug wouldn't explain the weight loss. Pepper probably knew Tony better than even Steve did. He'd talk when he was ready, so she allowed him his excuse. "Okay, you can miss this meeting, but I need you at the next one, Tony." She darted her eyes towards Steve, a silent promise that she wouldn't make Tony do anything if he was still this sick. It was always better to give Tony a goal.

"Promise, Pep."

"I'm CEO, but you still own the company." The chastise was light, but still made her point. If he needed time, that was fine, but he had to make some form of arrangement.

"I know." Tony stood on shaking legs, taking a moment to regain his balance. "I promise, I do. I'll be at the next one."

"Tony, what's going on with you?" The professional tone was dropped, leaving behind a voice that was caring. He was still her friend. She loved him fiercely.

"I don't know. We're trying to figure it out." Tony answered, rubbing his face. "I'm gonna take a shower, all right?"

She nodded, watching as he pulled the hoodie off, and gasped, unable to hold back her surprise. "Tony!" His ribs were sticking out.

"Let it go, Miss Potts," he said tiredly, making his way into the bathroom and shutting the door.

She wheeled on Steve, "the truth, Rogers!"

Steve winced. He _was_ a little afraid of Pepper, but then again, so was everyone. It took certain strength to deal with Tony as long as she had. "He's telling the truth. We honestly don't know."

"What do you know?"

"That he gets sick after he eats. Vomiting is only one of, like, twenty symptoms. He refuses to see a doctor, and we're at a loss."

"How much weight has he lost?"

Steve shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. But too much. He's weak, he's fatigued. We're changing his diet, trying to see if that helps."

"Has it? At all?"

"We only started last night at dinner, so not yet. He still got sick."

She pursed her lips. "He should be in the hospital."

"Try convincing him of that."

"Steve," she began, but he cut her off.

"I know, but it's Tony. We'll figure it out."

"Are you okay?" she asked, picking up the suit she had taken from the closet and returning it.

He shrugged again. "The man I love is wasting away before my eyes. Not really."

When she left, he got up, stripping and joining Tony in the shower, carefully and gently showing him how much he loved him through physical touch.

Afterwards, Tony took a nap, and Steve realized that even one of his favorite activities exhausted him to the point that he couldn't keep his eyes open. The man who used to go days without sleeping now spent most of his time doing exactly that.

* * *

"Whole wheat toast with jam and milk." Natasha said, placing the plate on the coffee table in front of Tony. "Let's go back to the basics."

Forty minutes later, he was running to the bathroom. A half hour after that, he was asleep in Steve's arms on the couch.

* * *

"Okay, so this time, it's bone broth, with chicken, carrots, onions and celery." A quick soup Clint had googled. "And herbal tea." He handed Steve the bowl, since Tony still hadn't moved from his position on the couch, his head in Steve's lap. "The pot I used still had the price tag on it. We've been here for over a year."

"Up, come on, babe." Steve gently coaxed him. "Did we ever actually cook before this?" He asked Clint as Tony gingerly sat up.

"Nope." Clint set down the mug and brandished a spoon from his pocket. "But we sure did know how to dial a phone number."

"Some adults we are."

"Speak for yourself! I am not, nor will I ever be, an adult."

That startled a laugh out of Tony. "Hear! Hear!"

This time, he didn't get sick. He even felt well enough that afternoon to put some time in on one of his projects.

Victory. At last.

* * *

For dinner, Steve made a meatloaf with the chopped meat. He was adding the bread crumbs when Bruce entered the kitchen.

"Need any help?"

"Wanna chop those green beans up?"

Bruce nodded and set to work. "Heard the dulcet tones of Metallica from Tony's workshop."

"He's feeling better!" Steve celebrated, adding the eggs to the mixture in the bowl -- which it also still had the price tag on it.

"Good." Bruce nodded in approval. "That's real good."

Tony was alert enough at dinner to help with the dishes, not even complaining as he loaded the dishwasher.

"We could watch something tonight," he was saying. "Action? Comedy? Both?"

"I think the only choice is Lethal Weapon." Clint agreed.

"Yes! See? I knew you were smart," cheeked Tony, lifting the door to the dishwasher and clicking it closed. He turned the knob and hit start. "One of the greatest movies ever made. Right, Steve?"

"I don't know," Steve laughed, "You only made me watch every single one of them a hundred times. Not sure I got enough to adequately judge."

"No one made you wat-oh." Tony's face had fallen, his good mood vanishing.

"Babe?" Steve was out of his chair in an instant and by his side. Tony doubled over, grabbing his stomach.

"Oh, fuck shit. That hurts." His voice was pinched. "Oh no, oh no no no!" Steve could only follow as Tony ran to the bathroom and dropped to his knees. So much for feeling better.

His stomach emptied, the sound cutting through the air. So they hadn't fixed the problem, had they?

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Tony continued to deteriorate, his mood souring to the point he was barely speaking to anyone, just curling up against Steve and reading, or flicking through his tablet. He barely got any work done, though he managed to attend two Stark Industries meetings.

But when they were alerted to an attack in Savannah, Georgia, the team left him behind, JARVIS agreeing and locking down the suits. He screamed. He yelled. He threw a total fit that exhausted him to the point that once they left, he fell asleep on the couch, his fists still clenched in anger.

They returned, hours later, to the television on, the news covering the attack, and Tony barely awake and watching in the armchair. They cautiously greeted him, mostly undamaged save for a few bumps and bruises, and a long gash up Steve's arm.

Tony didn't look away from the TV. "I get it. I do. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"If you would just-" Natasha was cut off by a glare.

"Don't start, please. I'll...I'll think about it." It wasn't a yes, but it was better than they had got before whenever seeing a doctor was brought up.

"Tony, I'm sorry," Steve began, "we didn't do it to hurt you, we're just worried-"

"-What the hell is that on your arm?!"

Natasha saw the fight that was about to happen and tried to intervene. "He's fine! Doc looked it over, just a graze, really, Tony."

But Tony wasn't listening, he was out of the chair in a heartbeat, blankets forgotten on the ground, and twisting Steve's arm to see. "How did this happen?" he snapped.

"Piece of rebar," Steve answered, knowing he was on shaky ground. "It fell, but I got out of the way."

"You got out of the-did you guys even THINK for one second, just one measly second that I could have prevented this?"

Bruce tried to placate him, "Tony, he's fine. It really wasn't a big deal, we didn't even need the Other Guy."

"So that's it? You don't need me." His voice flat, Tony turned towards the elevator, but Steve grabbed his arm.

"Tony! No! That's not it! We do need you!" Tony fought against the hold, but it was nowhere near his usual strength. "Babe, listen to me. You're sick. That's not your fault, but it's the truth. And until we get you better-"

"-I'm a liability."

"No! But you may get hurt! And I just can't… I can't lose you."

That got Tony's attention. He looked up at Steve, his eyes wide and his voice quiet. He was emotionally spent and tired of fighting everything that had built up within him. "It's just. I don't know what this is. I can't work; I can't do anything. I feel useless."

Using the arm in his grasp, Steve pulled Tony close to him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. "You're not useless."

"I don't want to be sick anymore." Tony spoke in a hushed voice, leaning his forehead on Steve's chest. "I'll go to the doctor."

Steve almost cried in happiness, "Thank God. Tony, thank God!" He leaned down to kiss him, his hands stroking his back in comfort. One by one, the others left the room; this was a private moment, no need to intrude any longer.

* * *

Tony was getting tired of chicken soup. It was one of the only things he could keep down. Clint made a big pot every other day, becoming such a pro at the recipe that he could now do it in his sleep.

He ate fruit, munched on raw vegetables, and ate soup. As much as he was growing bored with the lack of variation, he was feeling better than he had in awhile. Natasha got him a treat of vanilla ice cream and when he kept that down, she allowed him a bowl of Rice Chex the next morning, so he didn't have to eat soup for breakfast.

After a week, he had put on a little weight, not enough, but some. It overjoyed the team anyway, and they celebrated with milkshakes (Natasha was a pro at making those).

He was working again, sleeping less, and had some energy back. When he appeared in a new black suit on the morning before his doctor's appointment, Steve could have cheered. Yes, the recently tailored suit showed how thin he had gotten, since it wasn't the oversized clothes from Steve's own closet, but it was the first time in a while that Tony had made an effort with his appearance.

"I'm going into the office today. Gotta let them know I'm not dead."

They were in the penthouse kitchen, Steve at the breakfast nook, flipping through the newspaper and sipping orange juice. "Knock 'em dead," he cheeked.

"And when I come back, let's say we go for a roll in ze hay!"

"Gotta wait that long? How much time you got?" Steve was already standing up, looking Tony up and down and walking towards him.

"Half hour until Happy gets here," Tony was smirking, "plenty of time."

Leaning down, Steve took Tony's lips with his own, slowly backing them up to the bedroom. "Now let's get this suit off you before we get it all dirty and you have to change."

"What if I want to get it dirty?"

Steve's laughter trailed off into the room and Tony ended up being twenty minutes late to meet Happy.

* * *

"I think I can make my own bone broth," Clint was saying as he and Natasha walked around Whole Foods. "I've looked it up, takes a while, but it's totally doable."

"Look who thinks he's a chef now."

"Please," Clint sassed, as they stopped to pick out some carrots. "A whole new world has opened up to me. I am the Soup King!"

She snickered, "You can make one kind of soup, Barton."

"Yes," he held up his pointer finger, "but one kind of soup that doesn't make Tony sick."

"Whatever. We need onions."

"I got leeks last time and added them."

She nodded, "The different vegetables at least give Tony some variation. Potatoes? Turnips? Those would go well."

"I've noticed he doesn't do well with carbs." Clint responded. "Seems all the meals he got sick with had them."

"No potatoes then."

"What about parsnip? Think he'll get sick with that?" Clint held up the root vegetable.

"I don't know. He can handle milk, do you think yogurt would be okay?"

Clint shrugged, "Not a clue."

"Sorry," a cute little brunette woman interrupted them, "I couldn't help but overhear. Your friend, what's his allergy? Maybe I can help."

Natasha turned to her, sizing up her intentions before answering. "We don't know, he goes to the doctor tomorrow."

"I don't think he does well with carbs. Is that an allergy?" Clint supplied.

The woman shook her head, "Not necessarily. I'm a nutritionist, so I have some experience here. What did he eat to make him sick?"

The craziest part wasn't a stranger offering help. Since Natasha had willingly started allowing herself to live a normal life, which included actual social interaction, she had learned that there were all sorts of good and helpful people out there. No, the craziest part was that she had no look of recognition on her face.

"We weren't really eating right. Pizza, Chinese, heroes, he kept throwing up. He's lost a lot of weight."

"Gets migraines a lot, really pale now. Totally exhausted. Sometimes it just, uh, goes right through him," Clint added, trying to not sound gross for once in his life.

"Have you tried eliminating gluten?" The woman asked.

"Gluten?" Natasha's face took on a look of absolute revelation.

"Yeah, it sounds like celiac disease. The symptoms, I mean. Could be anything really. You said he goes to the doctor tomorrow?" They nodded. "Tell him to have the doctor do a celiac Panel. He's probably anemic from it as well."

"We will. Thank you."

"No problem," she smiled, "have a nice day!" And she was gone, wheeling her cart toward the frozen section.

"Well fuck." Clint groaned.

"Well fuck indeed."

* * *

They had just finished putting the groceries away and telling Bruce what they learned when Steve entered into the kitchen, not looking happy.

"Out of bottled water upstairs," he said, grabbing two bottles from the case by the refrigerator.

"Steve, we think we know what's wrong with Tony!" Clint exclaimed.

"About time." Steve sighed. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I don't mean to snip."

"What's going on?"

"Tony came home about an hour ago. He's sick again."

Bruce frowned, thinking. "Did he eat anything? At the office I mean."

Steve nodded, "Yeah, he said they had bagels. Had been feeling well enough that he figured he'd step out of the soup jail he'd been put in."

"That's gotta be it." Bruce answered. "Steve, we think Tony might have celiac disease."

Steve's eyebrows knitted together. "What's that?"

"At its simplest, his body can't process gluten. It's found in wheat, barely, rye, malt… It's kind of like an allergy, but it's not."

"Wheat? But that's in everything!" Steve groaned.

"Not everything," Natasha said. "Clint's soup didn't have it. That's why he didn't get sick."

"And it was a new pot that hadn't been used, so no chance for cross contamination," added Bruce. "Rice Chex are gluten free. So are all the vegetables and fruits he's been eating. Bagels, however, are not."

"How do you know for sure?"

"He needs what they call a celiac panel, bloodwork from the doctor." Clint answered. "Then we'll know for sure."

"He'll have to get scoped, as well." Bruce continued. "But this is good news!" Steve couldn't see how. "With celiac, all he'll have to do is go gluten free. Then he'll be back to the Tony we all know and love!"

"Steve," Natasha said gently, "It's not cancer. I know we've all thought it. If it's this then he's not dying. Pray for celiac, because believe me, this is a good thing."

* * *

Steve went with Tony to the doctor the next morning after giving him yogurt and a banana and explaining what they thought he had. Tony wasn't happy, but any answer sounded better than not knowing. He could handle changing his diet. What he couldn't handle was continuing to be so sick every time he tried to eat.

In the office, Tony was huddled in another of Steve's hoodies; he was wearing his own jeans, but they were belted tighter to fit him. What was once a pair of blue denim tailored to fit his curvy and lean frame now hung off his hips and looked almost sloppy.

Nose deep in a back issue of Highlights magazine, he ferociously ignored everyone around him. Everyone meaning the eight other people in the waiting room, all of which seemed to recognize them both. It didn't help that issues of US Weekly and People magazine were scattered on the table, his gaunt face across their covers.

_**TONY STARK:** _ _His Eating Disorder Uncovered?_

_How Iron Man Lost Almost Thirty Pounds by Cutting Out This One Food!_

_Tony Stark Anorexic! His friends tell all!_

_**BULIMIC!** _ _TONY THROWS UP AFTER BUSINESS LUNCH! HIS ASTONISHING WEIGHT LOSS! DETAILS INSIDE!_

_**AVENGERS ASSEMBLE TO SAVE STARK FROM HIMSELF!** _ _How his eating disorder is tearing the team apart! Page 6._

Each one had a picture of Tony, pale and sickly, some with additions from the team. Steve guilding an exhausted Tony back into the tower. Natasha looking worried as he stumbled through a hotel entrance. Bruce with his hand on Tony's shoulder in the Audi, his face full of concern.

Steve had half a mind to gather them all up and burn them. Not a single one had anything right. And the one about it destroying the team? If anything, it had brought them closer together, rallying around Tony.

And the stares from the other patrons didn't help. They glanced from the magazine's to Tony's face and to Steve's, their looks pitying or disgusted.

No wonder Tony barely left the tower these days.

"Anthony Stark?"

Every head popped up at the name called from the desk, happy to have confirmation as to who he was. Steve growled low in his throat.

"Here," Tony said, standing. He followed the nurse to the back, Steve close behind.

"Room six, Doctor Avery will be with you shortly."

Inside the room, Steve took the chair left for family and Tony sat on the exam table, the white sanitary paper crinkling underneath him.

"I wish they'd stop staring."

Steve sighed, putting a comforting hand on Tony's leg. "Who cares what they think? You'll be better soon enough, and then what will they say?" It hurt to hear Tony say that. He loved attention, lived for it even. Attention gave weight to his causes, made people sit up and listen about new technology, and it made a secretly insecure man feel good about himself. Usually. This was different. This was blatant lies.

In answer, Tony shrugged. He opened his mouth to speak, but a knock on the door stopped him. Another nurse entered.

"Good morning! I just need to check your vitals, get some info, then the doctor will be in." She busied herself at the counter for a moment, snapping on fresh gloves and picking up an ear thermometer. "Your temperature first," she said, and Tony tilted his head for her to put it in his ear. "99.6. A little high, but not bad. Can you take your hoodie off for me? I need to do your blood pressure."

He tried, at first, just to roll the sleeves up, too ashamed of his thin body, but the sweatshirt was too bulky, and he had no choice.

The nurse said nothing as he removed it, moving his arms to shield her from viewing his thinness. But she was a professional. Didn't even bat an eye, just velcroed the strap around his arm, put the monitor on his finger, and pressed start.

"140/90. That's a little high. Can you step on the scale for me?"

Tony grimaced. "I'd rather not."

"Tones," Steve coaxed, "we're here to find out why you lost the weight. It's important to know."

"Yeah. Okay. Can I put my sweater back on? It's cold in here."

"Of course," she nodded. He slipped the hoodie back over his head, and stepped onto the scale. Steve's breath caught in anticipation as she slid the metal rungs back and forth.

"137." She noted in the chart. _Damn_. _**DAMN**_. As Tony retook his seat on the table, she spoke again. "What brings you in today?"

He traded looks with Steve, almost pleading for his boyfriend to take over, but Steve just smiled gently and gestured for him to do it.

"Uh, well, it's been a few months, I don't know, maybe almost a year? But I keep getting sick after I eat. I can't keep anything down. And, uh, sometimes," he paused, slightly coloring, "sometimes it's diarrhea. Sometimes I'm, uh, I guess constipated." His face pinched. This was embarrassing. "I'm also always really tired. And I get these migraines, and this ridiculous brain fog. I don't know, there's other things. Like my stomach gets all bloated. But those are the worst." He thought for a moment. "And I can't keep a tan apparently."

Steve snorted. "He means his skin had gone really pale."

She nodded, jotting everything down in his chart. "I'm sorry to hear all this, we'll do what we can to make you feel better." Standing, she smiled warmly, "Just a few more minutes." And left.

Tony's head dropped into his hands. "Just kill me now."

Squeezing his leg, Steve offered silent comfort.

When the doctor entered, Steve tried really hard not to snatch his hand away too quickly. Tony didn't need their relationship coming out on top of everything else.

Doctor Avery didn't even notice. He was too busy with his nose in Tony's chart.

"Good morning," he finally looked up. "Mr. Stark, pleasure to meet you. You as well, Captain Rogers." They both shook his hand, somehow relieved that he didn't pretend to not know who they were. "So, it says here you've had some issues keeping food down, weight loss, diarrhea, constipation, migraines..." He gave a low whistle. "This is a lot, I'm sorry to hear this." Sitting on a stool he pulled from under the cabinets, he put the chart down. "You're very seriously underweight," he said to Tony.

"I just can't seem to keep the food _in_ me."

Avery nodded in understanding. "You're at 137, with someone your height and previous build we'd normally recommend you to be at around 165 to 175."

"I was about that, I guess. Muscle mass."

"Well, you had to be strong." Avery said, no hint of sarcasm or over excitement. He said it like a fact. And it was. "How have you been fairing since all this started?"

"It was fine at first. I mean, I tire quicker. But I'm grounded now." He shrugged like it didn't bother him, but Avery and Steve knew better.

"It's going to take work to get you back to that, but let's talk about why this happened in the first place."

"They think," he gestured to Steve but meant all of the Avengers, "that I have celiac disease."

"High possibility with your symptoms. In fact, I'll order the celiac panel, along with your other bloodwork," Avery noted in the chart. "What have you been eating?"

"For the past week or so, just some soup, fruits, vegetables. Cereal. Yogurt. It was all I could keep down."

Nodding again, Avery asked, "And prior?"

"Everything? A lot of takeout, but then they all started cooking, trying to help. We thought it was the processed foods," Tony shrugged, his empty palms up and open like he has nothing left to give.

"Have you consumed anything other than what you said in the last week or so?"

"Yeah," Tony answered, "bagels."

"Were you sick at any other point during the week?" Avery asked, and when Tony shook his head in the negative, he continued, "and what about after the bagels?"

"Thirty minutes, tops."

"And you threw up?" Avery frowned when Tony nodded. "All signs pointing to celiac." He gave Tony a reassuring smile, "don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this."

"Thank you." It was a start. Tony wasn't even close to _better_ yet, but just being there trying to find an answer had him in higher spirits than he had been. It was an _almost_ and it felt like sweet progress. He should never have waited as long as he had to get checked out.

"You're welcome, Mr Stark. Regina is going to come in and draw some blood. Don’t eat or drink anything after midnight and come back tomorrow for the rest. But this way we can get the CD panel in quicker."

At least this time, Tony didn't have to remove the hoodie.

* * *

News of Tony's visit to the doctor spread fast throughout the media outlets, each speculation more wrong than the next. Paparazzi lined the streets in front of the tower, hoping to catch even the smallest glimpse of the genius, flashing cameras at almost anyone who entered or exited, just in case.

Tony hid himself away, never venturing outside, even to the landing pad. He didn't go to the office, he didn't try to fly the suit, he just lay on his bed or on a couch or armchair, reading. At this point, even the tablet was forgotten. Steve had never known Tony to have any interest at all in fiction, had even seen him scoff at it. The small library in between the common floor and the gym only ever got use from himself and Bruce, or sometimes Thor if he was bored. But never Tony.

With the outside world so judging, he retreated into the one thing he could do without fully exhausting himself. He read. Voraciously.

"It's escapism," Natasha said, leaning against a bookcase and peering around to see Tony, curled up under a blanket. She watched him often, and Steve knew that if Tony had any inkling at all how often Natasha essentially spied on him, he'd be furious.

"What about all the scientific journals he's subscribed to? The texts? He has a million."

"Don't exaggerate. It's maybe a few thousand."

Steve glared at her, "Does it really matter?"

"No, I just like correcting you." She paused, looking away from Tony to give Steve a placating look. "He's read all of those, some a few times, I'm guessing. The journals? Probably things he's already figured out."

"You're annoying."

"I know." She gave him a small smirk. "But fiction, it's like another life. One that's not his."

"Where he's not sick and not on the verge of depression?" Steve frowned, glancing away from Tony just for a second to shoot Natasha a loaded look.

She winced at that. "Pretty much. Give him time, he'll be okay."

"I still worry about him."

"That's not going to stop even when he's better. You're dating," she answered, a small grin dancing across her face. "It kind of goes with the program."

Steve allowed his lips to tug up just a little. "Are these those 'pesky feelings' Tony always complains about?"

"One in the same." In a rare moment of physical comfort, Natasha put her hand on Steve's arm. "He's going to be okay, you know that, right? He's too stubborn to not be."

He had to stifle a laugh at that. "From your mouth to God's ears."

"Let him read, there's worse things he could be doing."

Unable to begrudge Tony of that, Steve left Natasha to her spying. He approached Tony in the armchair, smiling as the genius looked up in surprise. "Hey there, handsome. Room for one more?" Tony plucked a book from the pile on the end table next to him, handing it to Steve without a word. It didn't matter what the novel was about, he only cared that Tony fit snugly in his lap, and the lull of pages turning took them from the afternoon into the evening.

* * *

Tony was called back into the doctor's office the next Wednesday, but unfortunately, Steve had to leave the night before for DC. He apologized profusely, kissing Tony again and again, "It's fine, you'll be okay, I promise, you're going to be fine."

"I want you there, I mean, I know it's kinda stupid but I still do."

"Tony." Steve laughed softly, "Tony, it's not stupid. I get it. But you're not going alone, Natasha said she'd take you. And I'll be home tomorrow night, or sooner if I can swing it. Scout's honor."

Tony scoffed, "You are _so_ not a Boy Scout."

"Says you," Steve chuckled, kissing him again. "Call me right away when you leave the doctors, I may not answer, but I’ll call back when I can."

"But why do you have to go? I want you here. Who's going to keep me warm tonight?" Tony's voice was petulant.

"I don't know, Bruce might."

"Steve!"

"Clint tends to run kinda hot, doesn't he? He could be your own personal space heater."

Tony was laughing, which was what Steve had intended to happen. "Steven! You're the only space heater I want!"

"Yeah, but Thor is a cuddler. He could be very comfy."

"You're going to let me sleep in another man's bed?" Tony said coyly.

"I'll let you sleep in one of your teammate’s beds. Because I know that they know that I'll skin them alive if they try anything with you."

Tony grinned, "Oh, so now you're violent? But when Natasha cheated at Mario Kart and I threw the controller you said," he dipped his voice and spoke in his best -- worst -- Steve impersonation. "’Tony, violence is never the answer!’"

With a grin, Steve kissed his head, "Unless it's about the virtue of my boyfriend."

"I have virtue?"

"Somewhere, I'm sure. Check the closet."

"There's a gay joke in there, isn't there?" Tony snorted, wrapping his arm around Steve's, trying to anchor him to the couch where they were sitting.

"Probably. I have to go, babe. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He made to move his arm from Tony's grasp, but the smaller man just clung on tighter. "Tony," he consoled. "It's only one night."

Tony whined, again, and Steve swore he'd stamp his feet if he wasn't already sitting down. "You're not even going to call me to tell me goodnight?"

"You're incorrigible."

"One of my best...virtues."

One last kiss and Steve was standing, pulling reluctantly from Tony, grabbing his go-bag, and headed towards the door. "If I can, I'll call. But Tony," he looked at him sternly, the concerned boyfriend all the way, "don't stay up all night waiting."

"I can't make a promise I don't know if I'll keep."

"I love you. I _promise_ I'll be back tomorrow."

Tony gave him a sad smile, "I know. I love you too. Just...be careful, okay? Don't break your promise."

And Steve was gone.

Which left Natasha to rally up Tony the next morning, dragging him from bed (because of course he stayed up waiting for the phone call), and dumping him rather unceremoniously in the shower.

"I'll lay clothes out on your bed. And there's breakfast for you in the kitchen."

He had stayed gluten free completely since the week prior, and the change was noticeable. He was still underweight, but color had returned a little to his cheeks, though if he was anemic, the paleness had ways to go. But his energy was amped up a bit more. It felt good to do things, even if he didn't leave the tower. He read a lot, but he also tinkered a bit, finally able to concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time. And of course, the extracurricular activities with Steve were better than they had been in a long time.

It was nice to not feel like falling asleep directly after, and sometimes, he even had enough spare energy for round two.

But he could tell that Steve was worried. They all were. He was never much of a fiction reader before, and he was sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with him, but he really did like the escape.

Sometimes, he honestly felt like he wasn't the same. That he wasn't Tony Stark. He was an illness. And that was it. Gone was the inventor, the genius. Gone was the Iron Man suit, the playboy persona, the jokes, the wit. Like his whole person and history was completely rewritten from scratch, starting the first time he threw up.

And even then, that was blurry; it was like he was several different people in one and none of them were Tony Stark. None of them were at all familiar, and, not for the first time, Tony wondered at Steve's patience and understanding of him. The months through his sickness had been long and not at all easy to deal with. Tony knew that. He knew he was irritable at times, and others his mood would slam down and vanish like the contents of his stomach.

But Steve was with him through it all, right there. Next to him. Comforting him. Going as far as to help bathe him when his energy was so gone that he tried to sleep away the need for basic hygiene. He rubbed his stomach, and soothed his aches. He loved him.

And on the days and weeks that Tony couldn't, he was absolutely fine with no sex.

Not every significant other would be so understanding.

On top of it all, Tony was still a hard person to love, at least he thought so. He was too smart, too vocal, and too disharmonious with almost everything Steve stood for. They were opposites; they were perfect for each other.

But he worried, as he so often did, that one day Steve would have enough and leave him. Where was that line? Where did Steve decide that he couldn't do it anymore, that he wanted stability, someone who wasn't ill, someone who wasn't half out of his mind from depression. And that jolted Tony, to admit it. But the mystery of his health had sent him down a dark hole.

A knock on the door of the shower, pulled Tony from his thoughts.

"What?" He called out, annoyed.

"Get your cute ass moving! We leave in 20!" Natasha's voice sounded a bit muffled through the wooden frame.

Tony rinsed quickly, stepped from the tub, and wrapped a towel around his waist. The shower had felt good. Great even. He felt clean and more awake than he had been since he woke up.

In the bedroom, Natasha had laid out a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. She had also been through his underwear drawer--of fucking course--and had set out a pair of briefs and a pair of socks. Emerging from the closet, she tossed a grey zip-up hoodie onto the pile. It was one of Steve's, worn, and comfortable.

He sat on the edge of the bed, drying his hair using a second towel with vigorous rubs across his scalp before running the towels over his chest and glancing up at Natasha with a quirked eyebrow.

"You good?" She looked him up and down.

"Tash, don't look at me like that. Steve will know."

Rolling her eyes, Natasha said, "He knows I think you're hot. You all are. But I'm not interested. I am, however, interested in the weight you've gained back. Looks good."

"It's not much."

"But it's a start." He was graced with a broad smile, "Get dressed, I'll be good and wait in your living room."

"How chivalrous," Tony deadpanned, though his eyes were light. She let out a snicker and closed the door behind her.

Happy was waiting for them outside, ready to close the doors behind them and drive off quickly to keep Tony from the public view as best as possible.

He really was a good friend.

But Happy being there meant the paparazzi knew that it was likely going to be Tony coming out of the revolving doors to the tower, and they were in a frenzy.

"You ready for this?" Natasha asked.

"No. But I need answers."

She nodded, nothing to say but understanding his trepidation. "Come on."

The flashes of the cameras were blinding and Tony had to raise an arm in front of his face to keep from stumbling. They sent white stars across his vision and despite feeling better than he had, he was still not ready to deal with the media's tenacity.

"MR. STARK! MR. STARK!"

"TONY! HOW ARE YOU FEELING?"

"IS IT TRUE YOU HAVE CANCER?"

"ARE YOU AWARE THAT YOU'RE SENDING A BAD MESSAGE TO YOUNG TEENS ABOUT BODY IMAGE?"

"WHY ARE YOU ANOREXIC NOW? IS IT SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE AVENGERS?"

"MR STARK!"

"TONY!"

"IRON MAN!"

She was gentle, as much as she could be anyway, but Natasha shoved Tony into the backseat and slipped next to him quickly. Happy shut the door and moved faster than Tony had ever seen him back to the driver's side.

"You okay, Boss?"

"Yeah, let's just go."

Happy nodded, frowning. He was of the same mind as the others, which was simply that the media were a bunch of assholes who didn't know jack shit.

Once they pulled away and the noise abated, Tony's head fell back against the head-rest, letting his walls drop for only a moment. He had tried, and mostly succeeded he thought, in looking completely unaffected by the tirade of questions thrown at him. The truth, however, was that it bothered him more than he would ever admit. They were _so wrong_.

Natasha knew. She always did.

"Forget them," she spoke softly. "They don't know, and they'll feel like shit when they do."

"No they won't. Somehow it'll all still be my fault."

"That's not true." But she said it without much conviction. She was well aware of how fickle the media was. Iron Man they loved. Tony? Not so much. It angered her to no end. But then again, she was no stranger to the ebb and flow of society's emotions regarding those they considered celebrities.

The car slowed to a stop, and Tony was dismayed to see paparazzi outside the office as well.

"Are they for real?"

Natasha looked livid. "How did they even find out?"

"They're good at finding out things like this," Tony grumbled, "the truth? They couldn't find it if it bit them on the ass."

There were fewer than outside the tower but still an annoyance. He made his way just as stoically as he did before, keeping his head up and ignoring the questions fired at him. Sometimes, being famous really was a bitch.

Inside, the din faded and then completely vanished once the elevator doors closed. It was surreal, that difference between outside and in. But Tony supposed that oftentimes, that was just the way it was. He felt that way every day, keeping his demeanor to the public one way, but another in private.

The magazines in the office were the same, with a few new ones scattered about.

_**STARK TO THE DOCTOR: SAVE ME** _

_**CANCER** _ _! Tony Stark with only months to live!_

_**Oh, Tony!** _ _The tale of his anorexia and his fight to save himself._

"That's despicable."

Tony snorted, choosing a seat after he signed in and watching as Natasha flipped through one of the magazines. "Welcome to my life."

"Oh, look," her voice dripped with sarcasm, "they have me quoted as saying: _'Tony's life is on the line. We care for him but are ready to replace Iron_ _Man on the team. The world's safety comes first.'_ That's cold. Even for me."

"Aww, well, honey, you are the ice queen."

"Apparently, I'm also a total bitch." She glared at him. "No comments from the peanut gallery."

"Killjoy."

"We all play to our strengths." She flipped another page, "Isn't this attractive?" She showed him a picture of himself, heavily Photoshopped to look thinner than he was. "I didn't know you moonlit as a skeleton."

"How else do you think I made all my money?"

"Stripping?"

He laughed outright at that. "You're good for me."

Her smile was soft; it was one she didn't usually show in public. "Likewise, jerk."

"I try."

People were staring again and eavesdropping without shame. Somehow, Natasha had put him at ease enough that instead of feeling awful about it, he was indignant. Let them listen. Maybe they'd learn not to judge him so harshly!

It was a while before he was called to the back, and the cold and sterile room was just as medically ugly as it was the last time. The nurse took his blood pressure (still a little high), his temperature (normal), and weighed him.

He got off the scale to Natasha's beaming face. The smile so wide and so foreign on her, it sent pure joy through him.

"144."

He had a long way to go, but this was an improvement.

"It's the milkshakes."

She snorted, attempting to cool her features into her usual glower, and failed. "They did bring all the boys to the yard, you know."

Even the nurse laughed at that.

Avery entered a few minutes later, sitting on the stool after shaking their hands, smiling openly at Natasha. "My daughter idolizes you."

"How old is she?"

"Seven. And now she wants to be a female superhero when she grows up. There are worse things, of course. But she filled my wife's Amazon cart with leather pants and knives. We emptied it and told her to start smaller."

"Tell her to start with karate. It's discipline, and it's a fighting style. She can move on to better martial arts in a few years when she's older," she said, and Tony knew she was secretly pleased.

"Now," Avery started again, since the pleasantries were out of the way, "how have you been feeling, Mr. Stark?"

"Tony, you can call me Tony."

Avery nodded. "How have you been feeling, Tony?"

"Better. I've stuck strictly to gluten free. Still exhausted, but not nearly as much."

"You've gained some weight, which is good, and your skin is a bit more like a living person's." Avery said with a small smile, checking his chart. "We have your test results back."

Tony knew that, and he bit back a snarky retort, knowing that it was just something Avery had to say. "Am I dying?" He tried to laugh, tried to smile, but it came out flat. It was a real worry.

"Not at all." The doctor spoke in understanding. "But you did come back positive for celiac disease."

The emotions were too much. To finally have an answer, and not just any answer, but one that didn't include dying of cancer or _we'll try our best but..._ it was overwhelming. His head dropped into his hands, and the sob that he let out had Natasha startled.

"Tony?"

He felt the tears fall down his face, his relief spilling out of him, and he felt the arms of Natasha wrap around him.

"Hey," she said softly, "are you okay?"

Avery spoke quietly when Tony didn't move to answer her, "This is common. He's okay. It's the fact that he finally knows what's wrong, that it isn't going to kill him. To have an answer."

She nodded, rubbing his back. "Happens a lot?"

"More than you think."

Tony took a breath and looked up, his eyes red and puffy, but with an alertness she hadn't seen in months. "So, what now, Doc?"

"You should get scoped to see how bad the damage is; it's also used to confirm diagnosis. But I've had some patients refuse, though I don't reccomemnd not getting it. Changing your diet helps to fix what happened, but we can only be sure if we can see first hand." Pausing, Avery checked the chart again, "My other concern is that you are very anemic, but that's about on par. Your hemoglobin is at a 9.8, which is very low, but about right for how long your CD was undiagnosed for. On top of your diet, I'm prescribing some iron supplements. I'd like to see you back in two months to check the levels again, if they're still low it might be another underlying problem, but other than a B12/folate and Vit D deficiency, which again is common, your regular bloodwork looks fine. All these numbers should be up by the time I see you next."

"Okay." Tony said. "Okay. What else?"

"I can set you up with a nutritionist, unless you have your own, and I've printed out some information on CD for you to start with. Stay gluten free, watch the cross contamination, and you're going to be just fine."

It was close, but hearing those words--that he was going to be fine--almost set him off into tears again, but Tony composed himself. Though he'd probably be crying in Steve's arms later, if he was being completely honest.

Natasha took the packet of papers from Avery. "Anything else?"

Avery shook his head. "No, that about covers it. Call if you have any questions at all."

"Thank you." Tony said, his face a visage of relief, "thank you so much."

"Feel better," the doctor stood, shaking his hand again. "I'll see you in two months."

They made his follow-up appointment at the desk and left, once again facing the onslaught of cameras and a new addition to the bottom feeders: reporters.

"Mr, Stark," a microphone was shoved in his face, "what did the doctor tell you? Are you sick?"

Natasha grabbed the mic and handed it to the paparazzi behind her. Tony smirked, ducked his head, and got into the car. He was really grateful for her.

Steve's phone went to voicemail, and Tony hung up without leaving a message. It seemed so much more important to talk to Steve then to leave a voicemail. But he texted him. _Just got out. Call when you get this. I love you._

Natasha was busy on her own phone, so Tony called Pepper. It felt a little wrong to tell her first instead of his boyfriend, but it wasn't like Steve was picking up.

"Tony!" Pepper answered after three rings, "just a sec," he heard the rustling of papers and a door closing. "Did you get the results?"

He shifted in his seat, getting comfortable as Happy pulled into traffic, "yeah, Doc said what everyone thinks. Came back positive for celiac."

"Are you okay with that?"

"Surprisingly, yes. Nice to not be dying for once," his attempt at a joke was a little dark, but she laughed. "Beginning to think I might be immortal."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr Stark."

"Killjoy. Are you coming back to New York soon?" He asked, bringing his knee up to brave against the back of the front passenger seat, "I'd like to see you for more than three minutes." He paused and made a face, trying to think of something coy and humorous to say to cover up his emotional slip, "no one makes my espresso like you do."

"I'm not your assistant anymore, but I think I can make you some for old times sake. Don't get used to it," he could almost hear her eyes rolling. "I'll be back in a few days; I'll be over as soon as I can get away, promise."

"Bring me a treat? You know, I have to gain some weight back."

"We'll see, I'll have Steve let me know if you're being good," she cheeked, "otherwise, you're on your own."

"Pep, that's just setting me up for failure, you know that," he shot back, laughing softly. "I'll see you then."

"I'm glad you're okay, Tony. Take care of yourself."

"Cross my metallic heart, Miss Potts." Even though she couldn't see him, he drew an imaginary X over the arc reactor.

"Bye, Tony, be good! For once!"

He chuckled, "no promises. Bye, Pep."

Thor was waiting outside when they pulled back up at the tower. Tony's face split into a grin -- it had been a while since he had seen the Asgardian.

"Point Break!" Tony called out, stepping from the car.

"Anthony! Come, I am here to escort you inside, so that these parasites will leave you alone." Thor held out his hand, clapping it on Tony's back and guiding him. Natasha gave him a smirk.

"It's your turn to do the dishes."

"That is not fair!" Thor laughed, "I have yet to create any!"

"I don't know," Tony chuckled, "think it's been your turn for the past few months."

The reporters and paparazzi were swarming, but with Natasha on one side and Thor on the other, Tony made it into the tower without too much trouble.

"It has been five months since I have been here." Thor said, his eyebrow raising, "I seem to remember it being Steven's turn."

Tony laughed loudly as they entered the elevator.

"Nope, definitely yours. Got some nasty ones too."

"So I saw."

It wasn't hard to see how Thor was looking at Tony, worry creasing his usually jovial eyes. Natasha looked at the god surreptitiously and shook her head. "Later," she mouthed. Thor nodded and looked back at Tony.

"Or was it your turn to clean the dishes?" _Nice save._

Tony snorted. "Nope."

"It's never Tony's turn if you ask him," she said teasingly.

"Hey," he held up his hands, "these babies are worth too much to risk it."

With an eye roll, Natasha batted then away. "Risk what? Soap and water?"

The ding of the elevator arriving on their floor cut off any answer he had.

Because standing directly in front of him, at quarter past 11 in the morning and hours earlier than expected, was Steve.

Tony's mouth fell open then turned up into a smile. He wasn't even ashamed as he launched himself into Steve's arms. "You're home!"

Wrapping his arms around Tony's, Steve hugged him tightly and drew his lips into a kiss. "Surprise!"

"You jerk! You didn't answer my call!" Tony smacked Steve's arm, but the soldier didn't even wince.

"Didn't want to spoil it." He kissed Tony again, deeper this time. A more proper hello.

"Gang’s all here!" Natasha called out from the kitchen where Clint and Bruce waited. Thor looked sheepish behind Tony.

"You knew!" Tony rounded on him.

"Of course I knew! But I was sworn to secrecy, Anthony." He shrugged, an impish smile on his face.

"I said, GANG’S ALL HERE!"

"Nat, just because the attention isn't solely on you for once…"

She snorted as Tony entered the kitchen, Steve's arms still wrapped around him. "Pot, meet kettle."

"Pleasure."

Steve placed a kiss on top of his head, "So? Good news?" Tony looked up at him. "Bad news then."

Laughing, Tony answered, "Good news. If you can call it that."

"Okay? Speak, man!" That was Clint, digging through the cabinets and plucking a package of K-Toos from the shelf, a brand of gluten free cookies Tony loved.

"Not dying!"

"It's celiac," Natasha clarified.

"Spoil sport." But Tony didn't mind. He grabbed a cookie, tugging from Steve's arms, the soldier rolling his eyes as he did so. But seeing Tony willingly eat was wonderful.

"I'm just thankful it's not cancer," Bruce spoke softly, standing to get glasses from the cupboard.

"It's not." Sobering a little, Tony turned to look at each of them, then finally at Steve. "Thank you, guys, seriously. You probably saved my life."

"Not the first time," Steve grinned.

"-And not the last." Clint added. He was pulling the milk from the fridge.

"Most likely. But who's counting?" Sitting, Tony picked up the filled glass that was slid over to him. "But really. I, uh, I know I was difficult. You know. With not wanting to go to the doctor. I'm sorry for that."

"Don't mention it," Bruce said, plopping the cookies in front of Tony. "We're just glad you're going to be okay."

"I have a packet here, of information concerning celiac." Natasha took the packet from the folds of her jacket and placed it on the table. "But maybe you could help us, Bruce?"

He nodded, "Been doing my own research. A lot needs to change around here. But it's doable."

"Seems the biggest concern is cross contamination," she responded.

"Yes, but again, a lot has to change. As long as we're careful, it should be fine."

"I need to learn a whole fucking lot, don't I?" Tony groaned.

"Oh, yeah, that's going to be really hard for a genius, what an awful learning curve!"

It was worth wasting a cookie to throw at Clint's head.

* * *

Two days later had Tony literally laying on top of Steve's naked form, happy and content, except for the grumbling in his stomach.

"We have no food left in here," he whined, "why are we so bad at keeping our kitchen stocked?"

Steve's smile spread wide enough he could cover the entirety of Route 66, "ours?"

He still maintained his own quarters, even though he spent every night and most of his days in Tony's penthouse. Hearing that Tony was calling it theirs was fantastic.

"Don't act surprised."

"Mm," he kissed Tony's forehead. "I won't then." When his stomach made a loud, grumbling noise, he laughed, "And I'll get right on that."

Tony chuckled, feeling Steve's hunger pains vibrate through his chest, "I'd go but…"

"You're gonna use the media as an excuse, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Steve chuckled. "We can have it delivered."

"Brain fog _is real_." Burying his face in Steve's chest, Tony groaned. "When does that go away?"

"It's getting better. You're going to feel perfect soon. I'm sure." Steve placed another kiss on his head; Tony really loved that. "You going to speak to the press?"

"I probably should," Tony grumbled, "that would be the responsible thing to do." Steve nudged him up and he reluctantly left his human bed. "Shall we venture out in search of sustenance?"

"Shower first?"

"You dirty, dirty old man."

* * *

In the kitchen, Pepper was waiting for them, sipping tea and talking quietly with Natasha. She beamed at Tony as he entered, her face lighting up at the sight of her closest friend.

"Hey, Pep!" Tony greeted, an obvious swag in his walk. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in hello.

She grinned widely, too many years under her belt with him to not notice his flushed face or the breed of confidence in which he walked. "Do you two do anything other than have copious amounts of sex? Or is it just me?" She looked at Natasha.

"Not just you."

"How did you know?" He stopped and glared at her, but there was no anger behind it.

"Tony, I know you."

"That's fair." He shrugged and made his way over to the coffee pot. And froze. "Something's different." He heard snickering behind him. "What did you do?"

"Take a look, angel." Steve coaxed him.

The kitchen was spotless, as it usually was (they did have a cleaning service, after all), but things were moved around.

On the small slab of counter space next to the refrigerator, the old toaster sat with a stickered sign on it. **Gluten**. The cabinet above also had the same sign, further inspection showed that in it were the things he needed to stay away from: wheat bread, regular cookies, regular breadcrumbs, regular pasta, all storable items that contained gluten. Directly next to that counter was the sink, a barrier between what was cleaned and what wasn't.

"Your health is important, as would any of ours be, Tones, if it were someone else. We've separated the counters because we don't need much space to make a sandwich." Tony listened to Steve speak, his bottom lip quivering just a little as the emotions threatened to take over. He had never felt so unequivocally loved before. "We got a new toaster, look," Steve gestured, lightly guiding Tony to turn with a hand on his back. The new one was labeled **Gluten Free**. "And no wheat products are allowed on the rest of the counters. We discussed it, and we all agreed." Tony nodded, running his hand over the marble.

"Thank you." He spoke softly, overwhelmed.

"Not only that!" It was Clint, and Tony hadn't even seen him enter the kitchen. "But have a looky!" Leaning past Steve and Tony, he flipped all the cabinets open, ignoring Steve's face at the chaos of it all. "You are officially stocked with all sorts of goodies! Gluten free pasta, cookies, breakfast snacks, a year's worth of K-Toos and Tates, by the way, you're welcome for that one." Tony beamed at him. The cabinets were indeed stocked full of things Tony could safely consume. Clint grabbed a box of the vanilla sandwich cookies and opened it, offering them to Tony, who took one and shoved it into his mouth. Clint did the same, chewing around his grin.

"And the fridge," Steve added, opening it, "All things we can all eat, down to the condiments." He picked up a bottle of soy sauce, "See? This one is gluten free!"

"New pots and pans as well," Natasha said, standing to open the bottom cupboards to show him before closing them and flicking closed the ones Clint had left open. "Under the gluten counter are some of the old pots and dishes the rest of us will use."

"This," Tony began, choking back tears, and that was really annoying, was he seriously about to cry again? He swallowed, bringing himself back under some sort of semblance of control. "This is incredible."

Steve’s arms encircled his waist from behind and Tony leaned his head back onto his shoulder, closing his eyes, letting Steve's warmth and strong arms envelope him. "The kitchen in the penthouse is getting a similar makeover, Bruce and Thor are up there right now, only it will be 100% gluten free." He placed a chaste kiss on Tony's jaw.

"You guys didn't have to do all this."

"We wanted to, angel."

Pepper, who had remained silent, not wanting to interrupt the team's surprise, spoke up. "I've also got some information you may want." From the briefcase by her feet, she pulled out a pamphlet. "It's a celiac conference, in Boston. You'll need to make a statement to address all the rumors, but nothing says it has to be a press conference. I can get you in as a keynote speaker."

Opening his eyes, Tony lifted his head and looked at Pepper with awe. "You're amazing."

She smirked. "I know."

"And so are you," Steve whispered, tightening his hold on Tony's body and rocking softly. "You conquer everything thrown at you."

"I had some help."

Steve grinned and turned Tony's head to kiss him. "Maybe a little."

"Now it's my turn." He looked back at Pepper. "Set it up."

She smiled, "Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

"That will be all, Miss Potts."

* * *

Twenty-six pounds and four months later, Tony found himself at an upscale hotel in Boston, the other Avengers standing around him in solid support. No one knew why Tony Stark had a sudden interest in donating to the National Celiac Association when it was announced or why he was set to be the keynote speaker at the conference that began that afternoon.

If anyone used their heads, it would have been obvious. At least those in attendance were starting to put the pieces together.

He was greeted with warm smiles and knowing handshakes from those on the board and from those attending. At the luncheon, he ate delicious food, prepared expertly and safely, and chatted with the people at his table, never purposely giving his hand away but knowing that they all knew.

The media? The ones who stalked Tony and followed him to Boston, procuring media passes and packing into the back of the reception hall where the speeches would take place? They were still too stupid to even begin to realize exactly why Tony was there. It was so much more fun to paint him as a villain, as someone who had brought this upon himself.

It was comical, and more than once Natasha had to corral Clint into facing back towards the front and to _"Stop making faces at them!"_

Tony was introduced and brought on stage at 3pm exactly. Off to the side, standing together, were his teammates and friends; they gave him encouraging smiles as he adjusted his tie and fiddled with the microphone clipped to the lapel of his suit jacket.

The room was quiet, like the breath before a storm, waiting for him to say the words most knew were there.

He swallowed and cleared his throat, stepping to the center.

"I know many of you are wondering exactly what business I have here. And I think some of you have figured it out." He looked out at the curious faces, smiling lightly to set them at ease as well as himself. "I've been in the news a lot lately." He gave a sardonic grin as laughter rolled through the room. "Some wild accusations about my appearance. That I'm anorexic. Bulimic. That I have cancer." The room quieted.

He stepped forward, to the edge of the stage, "Sometimes the media really knows how to get it wrong in a _spectacular_ way." He shot a glance to the back of the room, his eyes defiant. "They were so wrong. So incorrect that they had me cornered in their lies. Afraid of my own diagnosis.

"The most interesting part of getting sick and figuring it out isn't that I have an answer, it's why I hadn't thought of it before. It's why I'm donating 3.5 million dollars to the NCA and will continue to do so yearly. Because now I know what I should have before." Pausing, Tony let the murmurs through the crowd soften before he continued.

"It's why I will stand up to be an advocate. Why I _will_ look into other illnesses and do the same, because _we deserve a voice!"_ It echoed through the room, washing over the guests and leaving them smiling and nodding, appreciative.

"This isn't just another cause for me to throw money at. I know a lot of you like to think that's all I do, and," he gestured to the attendees, "I don't mean any of you." The cameramen and the reporters shifted uneasily, the jab at them hitting their last shred of humanity. "This _is_ personal."

Standing up straighter and lifting his chin, Tony let the words sink in before he spoke again, his voice even and strong. "I have celiac disease."

Children on their parents laps and teenagers sitting next to their mothers and fathers looked with wide eyes at him. Adults both with recent diagnoses and and older ones found themselves suddenly attached to the figure before them. A superhero who was just like they were.

Tony gave a one shouldered shrug, "And I'm okay with that. I didn't exactly picture myself as an adult and having to make total lifestyle changes. It wasn't like I just woke up one day and went, hey! This seems like a fun endeavor!" There was more laughter as the guests all looked on understanding. "I don't even know what triggered it," Tony said, his eyebrows raised in mirth and his head shaking in confusion. "But here I stand before you," he held his arms out, so reminiscent of the Jericho demonstration he faltered, for just a second, before carrying on, "as one of you. And I mean to help in any way I can. If you'll have me, that is."

A voice towards the middle called out, "Gluten free Iron Man!" sending the whole place into wild laughter.

Tony laughed hard at that, bent over and rolling with it, wiping tears and letting his face crack open in a bright grin. "That's one way to put it!"

There were cheers, the mood lifting high up above them. Tony righted himself and finished, his voice light. "I've brought some friends along with me," he pointed to the rest of the Avengers. "There's a free photo-op scheduled for 8pm. And I'm sponsoring a fundraiser event for the fall, a completely gluten free carnival. All proceeds to go to the NCA.

"Thank you. It's nice to know I'm not alone." He gave a quick nod of his head, signaling he was finished.

There was applause and cheering as he left the stage, shaking hands with the board members and the VIP guests at the stairs, cameras flashing and journalists jotting notes quickly to make their deadlines. It was a whirl in the very best way.

_**Iron Man: His winning battle against celiac disease** _

He stepped over to his team, his love, and his friends. Accepting the hugs and the pats on his back, accepting that it was okay to not be impervious to everything in the world. **Because the little flaws are what make** _ **you**_ **interesting.**

And Tony Stark, _almost_ back to his old weight and _almost_ back to his regular life knew that _almost_ was okay because it was the start of a new life away from hiding, away from being scared.

He didn't know exactly when it was that he first got sick, but he did know the exact moment when he began to feel better.

He also knew who helped him there.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a huge labor of love and massively personal for me. I truly hope you enjoyed it and I hope you feel the need to comment! I would love to hear what you think.


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